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He started to move his head off her thigh to ease her but she came awake.

He shut his eyes and let his head slide off her lap, hoping she would go back to sleep.

Her hand came under his head just before it hit his pillow and pulled it back on her lap.

Samarth drank down the rest of his tears.

He kept his eyes closed, his body loose, his breathing laboured.

“Tara,” Papa called out softly.

“He is still warm.”

A pause, then a rattle of the temperature gun.

“It was 105 an hour ago. Now it is down to 103 but that’s still high.”

“And BP?”

His arm was lifted and a cuff tightened around his bicep. The cuff contracted and expanded.

“107 by 61,” Rajmata said. “Should we call Haren saheb?” Her hand landed on his forehead. “Sid, should we take him to the hospital?”

“Take two more readings.”

“But it’s low…”

“Tara, take two more. It’ll average out.”

More contractions, more expansions.

Papa’s hand landed under his jaw.

“He said Samarth’s blood pressure falls and that’s worse than if it rises… Sid, let’s just take him, please. Call Haren saheb…”

“He had this same pattern last night. Let’s wait until morning.”

Silence. Rajmata’s hand pushed his hair back and wiped the sweat from his brow.

The rattle of steel and ice. And a cold cloth was pasted on his forehead.

He wanted to wake up and ask them both to stop, tell them that he was ok, but his eyes wouldn’t open fully again.

His muscles didn’t seem in his own control.

“I am scared, Sid.”

“He’ll be fine, Tara. He is young and in his prime.”

“Don’t give me that!” She whispered. “Jyoti ben’s 30-year-old son went away in dengue yesterday. Young, healthy and in his… prime.”

“They didn’t start treatment on time. He was severely dehydrated, wouldn’t listen to the doctor…”

“Samarth hasn’t finished even this 2-litre bottle.”

“He will finish it. Let him wake up. You made him drink two glasses already.”

Her hand patted his forehead again. Two taps, then one, then two again. Like some lullaby but only in beats. Samarth relaxed, trailing towards deep sleep.

“Now you understand what I meant?” Papa’s voice pulled him back out.

“About what?”

“About parents never having a happily ever after.”

A tired chuckle.

“Your sappy does make sense sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

Papa’s body relaxed beside him.

“I will have Hira ben clean his entire room with dhoop tomorrow,” Rajmata said. “Mummy said he is doing so much for the kingdom and now again starting to ride and play polo — maybe it’s najar.”

“When did you start believing in all this?”

“Whatever brings him back,” she patted. “You go to sleep. I’ll wake him up again in half an hour for medicine and more liquid.”

“I’ll sleep if you stop talking.”

She stopped talking. Papa went to sleep. And Samarth kept awake with his eyes closed. This patting was heaven. He wanted to absorb it.

————————————————————

The day was warm. He turned his head to the light and slowly blinked his eyes open. The sunlight hit his eyes but he didn’t feel it in his skull. His throat wasn’t burning. It just felt dry. Like how it felt when he was recovering from a regular cold.

“Samarth?”

The sound of that voice reminded him that there was a hand on his forehead, shading his eyes from too much sun. He lifted his hand and cupped it, then turned his face to the other side. Rajmata was still there, in the same clothes from last night. Her face was pale, tired, drawn out.

He smiled — “I am fine.”

“Then drink this,” her other hand came up with a glass of Thums Up. He groaned.

“Come now,” she pushed him to sitting. “Finish this.”

“Give me water.”

Her face lit up. She turned to his bedside to fill water in a glass and Samarth got his first glimpse of the space. It was a mini hospital — medicines, water, temperature gun, thermometer, BP machine, syringes, glasses. And of course, the 2-litre bottle of Thums Up.

“Drink and keep drinking,” she passed him a glass of water. It tasted like acid lite version but after the horrors of last night he was done with the taste of Thums Up. He licked his cracked lips and kept drinking.

“Apply this,” she passed him a jar of Vaseline.

“Where?”

“On your lips. How do you feel?”

“Like I have been halved away. Where is Papa? Is he at court?”

“Yes. And he will handle it.”

“What has been told about me?”

“The truth.”

“Hmm…”

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Wrong question. Are you going to eat quietly or am I to employ Sharan tactics?”

Samarth felt his bones rattle with something other than fever. It was laughter, because he craved a good scolding like Sharan’s. His eyes rose from the centre of his lap to her and the scolding looked closer than it had a second ago.

“Go take a bath. Can you stand or should I call Harsh?”

“No!” He recoiled in horror, stepping out of his bed and taking a moment to orient himself. He planted his feet wide and took some deep breaths.

“Cold bath,” she directed.

“Yes, Rajmata.”

————————————————————

“Why are you doing this?” Samarth balked at her changing his bedsheet. He set his towel aside and pulled his T-shirt in place, striding to her.

“Go sit on your couch,” Rajmata directed, tucking the edge in.

“The staff will do it…”

“Nobody should see Rawal sick unless gravely necessary.”

“Rajmata?” Hira ben knocked on the door.

“Aavi jaao, Hira ben. Why are you knocking?” She called out. Hira ben entered with a platter of dried red chilies, lemon, salt crystals and a newspaper. Rajmata saw that and turned her eyes to him — “I said, go and sit down on your couch, Samarth.”

He obediently went and sat, pushing a hand through his wet hair. He kept it shorter now, unlike his boyish days.

“Adhda thayi gaya chho, Rawal,” [80] Hira ben grinned.

“Rajmata ne me ee aj kidhu.” [81]

“Be divas jhamadine pachha hata tyana tyana kari dais,” [82] Rajmata remarked changing his pillow covers.

Samarth observed Hira ben, her gait slower and her back bent as she set everything down on his coffee table and began packing the ingredients in the newspaper. Now when he noticed her slow reflexes, he realised how age had caught up with her.

She set up the pack and picked it in her right hand.

He was familiar with the process, having been king long enough, having sat through many a najar sessions.

But those were mere ceremonial rituals, done so after Diwali poojan, Ashwa poojan, or any other grand ceremony — a part of the traditions due to the king.

This one was being actually done thinking there was some evil eye cloud over him.

But looking at the stern eyes of Rajmata behind and Hira ben’s faithful mumbles as she circled the pack of ingredients around him, Samarth kept his mouth shut.

“Thayi gayu have, Hira ben,” [83] he tried to joke with her as she continued circling the packet around his face, then his head, then his whole body. Her eyes widened at him.

“Not a word from you,” Rajmata threatened, folding his duvet.

He snapped his mouth shut and Hira ben pursed her amused lips.

She finished and tapped his head affectionately, like she used to when he was a child, like she never had since he had become Rawal.

Then quietly collected everything and left.

“Can I go to the office today?” Samarth asked.

“When was the last time you ate?” She countered.

“Can I go to the office after I have eaten?”

“Good question. Let’s see how much you can eat. First drink this —“ she picked up another glass of water and pressed it into his hand. He sighed, sipping slowly. The taste of his minty toothpaste made the drink bearable but it still wasn’t a liquid he could down in litres.

“Why are you making that face?”

“What face?”

“Like you want to drink anything but that?”

He gulped, then confessed — “This tastes bad.”

Rajmata sighed — “You have to take more liquids, Samarth. More Thums Up?”

“No,” he winced.

“Then what do you want? Limca?”

“That is a good idea…”

Another knock on the door and Harsh entered, pushing a trolley of food in.

“Enjoying a change of scenery, Harsh?” He grinned. Harsh scowled, deposited the trolley in front of him and began gesturing.

Hearts has turned Hitler.

Samarth laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Rajmata asked, trying to decipher his gestures.

She understood her name — star . But this was a new sign Harsh had started using recently.

Hearts, the short form for Queen of Hearts as had become the running joke in their palace after Giriraj Hukum had gone around rechristening Rajmata.

“Why are there two plates?” Samarth changed the topic.

“Eat both and you can go to the office.”

His face fell. Harsh guffawed, waving a ‘good luck’ and leaving his chambers.

“Please, Rajmata, let me go. I’ll go crazy here…”

“Fine,” she sat down beside him and began to position the plates on the coffee table — one in front of him and the other in front of her.

“Aren’t you going down to eat with Papa and Sharan?”

“Look at the time. They must have already finished.”

He glanced at the clock. It wasn’t that late.

“Still…”

“Eat, they will come up soon.”

“I’ll just take this,” he kept one bowl of curd close and began to pick out the rest of the bowls to set out of his plate.

“Curd and rice is not enough. Have this dal,” she picked up the bowl of dal and placed it back onto his plate.

“I can’t handle the spice…”

“It’s not spicy,” she poured it over his rice, then poured curd over the heap. She mixed it with her fingers, crushed hard and fast until his rice looked like a light, lemon-yellow porridge. “Try it now.”